


It's Just A Bunch Of Hocus Pocus

by onceuponatime



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Hocus Pocus!au, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Magic, but it's halloween, it's just, it's not even scary, this is awful, witch!calum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:20:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponatime/pseuds/onceuponatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ashton’s grin spreads, almost splitting his face in half and Michael starts to feel a little afraid. “I dare you to break in to the old Hood house.” </p><p>Michael scoffs, standing from Luke’s lap and popping his spine. Breaking into the old Hood house isn’t that much of a dare. All the kids from Salem do it at least once, and Michael had his turn when he was like, ten. He’s a little disappointed in Ashton; he thought he could do better than that. He’s a little embarrassed for him, too, if he thought that going into that house would phase anyone over the age of twelve. “That’s it?” Michael asks, staring at Ashton with a dead expression. </p><p>“Ah, ah,” Ashton says with a glint in his eye. “You gotta break into the Hood house, and you have to video yourself lighting the Black Flame Candle.”"</p><p>Michael brings Calum back from hell as the result of a Halloween bet</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just A Bunch Of Hocus Pocus

**Author's Note:**

> SO  
> This garbage comes from me marathoning Hocus Pocus for like a month straight (and most of my nineteen years of existence to be honest) and on that note:  
> Title is a line from the movie, there's also a line in the fic that's from the movie as well as elements of the plot. I changed some of it to fit my needs. Like, the black flame candle can be lit more than once, and Hell is just like... a party place kinda thing. I don't know. Just, Disney please don't sue me I am a poor college student  
> ALSO i kinda wanted to write something a little silly and cute and this is what happened and yeah  
> Happy Halloween aayy

Michael hates Halloween. He likes horror movies and ghosts, all things dark and morbid and if he doesn’t come back as a zombie after he dies he’ll be severely pissed off, but he fucking hates Halloween itself. He doesn’t like being forced to have fun, and there’s some sort of unspoken rule that on Halloween night, everybody has to go to parties and get off their face and have a wonderful time.  Luke, on the other hand, loves these parties, and so deems it appropriate to drag Michael to them every year, where Michael will wear the same costume and talk to the same people, but has long since swapped his cheap beer and candy for vodka shots and the best quality weed a twenty year old still living with his parents can afford.

It sucks, because Michael likes parties, but on Halloween he’s not allowed to be his usual miserable yet somewhat cheery self. Michael is a simple man with simple pleasures, and would enjoy himself with a bottle of Jack and a hand down his pants. Luke doesn’t think that’s a good enough reason to stay at home “on _Halloween_ Michael. And Christ, you’re so vulgar,”, even though Michael had already executed stage one of his plan and had his laptop set up and a half empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand when Luke barged into his room and threw open his closet, hunting for a costume. If he had’ve turned up fifteen minutes later – well he definitely would have got a nice scare on Halloween. Michael was planning on going all out to forget about the shitty holiday.

So that’s why he’s sitting outside Brian’s house, ass resting on one of Luke’s bony knees and just waiting for the old lawn chair to collapse under the weight of the two of them. If he’s being honest, it would liven the party up a bit, because everyone is scrolling through their phones and laughing to themselves. Michael doesn’t understand why they have to be outside freezing their balls off  (it’s the last day of October, for fuck’s sake) but at least he can smoke without setting off the fire alarm (again) and Brian’s parents getting pissed at the lot of them (again). When the burning end of his cigarette reaches the filter, Michael plucks it from between his lips and flings it to the ground, crushing it under one of his scuffed up Doc Martens and throws his head back against Luke’s shoulder. Luke just flicks his ear, but otherwise leaves him be.

“No offense, Bri,” Ashton starts, taking a swig of beer and dropping the empty bottle on to the grass. “But this party sucks.” Brian makes a noise of offense, but other than that no one else contributes to the conversation, the sound of occasional fireworks and Brand New playing from the speakers the only sounds filling the silence.

Ashley stretches out on the grass beside Ashton, her blue hair fanning out as she rests her head on his lap. Michael can feel Luke tense up underneath him and resists the urge to roll his eyes, settling for pinching Luke’s thigh and giggling when Luke tires to shove him off his knee. “Asshole,” Luke mumbles, but wraps his arms around Michael’s waist nonetheless. Michael wants to make some comment along the lines of ‘you are what you eat’, but Luke’s staring directly at Ashton and Ashley, so he holds it in for a time when Luke is actually paying attention to him and the joke will have a greater impact.

 From Ashton’s lap Ashley lets out a groan and chucks her phone to the floor beside Ashton’s discarded beer bottle. “Is it just me, or was Halloween more fun when we were kids?”

“Well, I didn’t know you when we were kids so I definitely had a better time,” Michael taunts, raising an eyebrow and smirking when he gets flipped off by at least three different people.

“Parties were more fun when we were kids, too. I mean, we didn’t have weed or whatever, but remember how pumped you used to get during spin the bottle or seven minutes in Heaven?” Ashley says, fiddling with the rings she has on her finger, the long sleeves of her witch costume brushing Ashton’s thigh. Michael’s not sure why Brian made them dress up, but the skeleton paint on his face is dry and cracking, and it’s starting to piss him off something serious. (Luke begged him to dress up as Little John while Luke was Robin Hood, but Michael just stared disbelievingly at him until Luke told him to forget it and went back to plucking his guitar strings.) 

“Guys,” Luke pipes up. “We should totally play seven minutes in Heaven.” Michael groans, because he’s already hooked up with a third of the people here, and although they were good for a drunken lay, he’s still too sober to even make out with any of them.

He looks over his shoulder at Luke, whose eyes are still on Ashton. “You’re only saying that in the hopes you’ll get paired up with Hercules over there,” Michael whispers, low enough for only Luke to hear. Luke’s face turns an impressive shade of pink and Michael wants to pinch his cheeks because he’s so cute.

“Nah, I don’t feel like getting fondled by anyone here. Unless Orlando Bloom turns up, I’m not playing that.” Ashley says disinterested, her phone back in her hands. “Truth or Dare?”

This time Michael does roll his eyes, because that’s lame as Hell, but everyone else seems to be on board with the idea, pocketing their phones and forming some half assed circle. There’s bickering to decide who goes first, but Brian makes the argument that it’s his house and his party, and so takes it upon himself to dare Derek to run naked to the end of the road and back.

Derek returns and dares Michael to kiss Luke, which isn’t that big a deal because they’ve done it a million times before (one hundred percent platonically. Michael loves him, but not like _that_ ) and by the time ten more people have been dared and Michael wonders why it’s called truth or dare and not just, like, dare, it’s Ashley’s turn. She has a smile on her lips and an evil glint in her eye, and Michael knows what’s coming before it even leaves her mouth. Her eyes flick between Luke and Ashton, and Michael tries not to laugh. “Ashy,” she says, voice as innocent and sweet as sugar. Ashton picks up on the tone because his eyes widen and he looks panicked. “I dare you to give our Lukey a kiss. A big ‘ol smack on the lips.”

Michael’s body shakes with suppressed laughter when he hears Luke suck in a breath. He just knows the look Luke has on his face, and it’s mirroring the one Ashton has on his own. Michael snorts at how red Ashton’s face is. He figures he should get off Luke’s lap and let them do this properly, but before he even has a chance to move, Ashton is there, and all Michael can do to avoid getting kissed himself is lean to the side.

The longer the kiss goes on the more uncomfortable he feels, and he welcomes the smack that comes when the two boys’ mouths finally separate. “As fun as it is being able to hear their tongues rubbing against each other, can we be a little more original with the dares please?” Michael groans, balancing on Luke’s left thigh.

Ashton takes his place beside Ashley again, eyes wide and in somewhat of a daze. Ashley has to elbow him to pull him out of his reverie and remind him that it’s his turn to pick someone to dare, because realistically, they know no one is gonna pick truth. There’s a lot of shit that no one wants to confess to, and running down the road naked is a lot less embarrassing than admitting you hooked up with your college professor in his office while they were supposed to be lecturing (he was young, smart and rode a Harley. Michael is only human). Ashton’s eyes clear of the lust that was fogging them a second previous, and he’s looking right at Michael, smirking. Michael kind of wants to punch him. And if he’s boring enough to dare Michael to make out with someone, then he will.

“Mike, since it’s Halloween and all, I was thinking we could try something different.” Michael huffs out a breath, messing with a lose thread on Luke’s vampire cloak.

“Hit me with your best shot, Irwin.”

Ashton’s grin spreads, almost splitting his face in half and Michael starts to feel a little afraid. “I dare you to break in to the old Hood house.”

Michael scoffs, standing from Luke’s lap and popping his spine. Breaking into the old Hood house isn’t that much of a dare. All the kids from Salem do it at least once, and Michael had his turn when he was like, ten. He’s a little disappointed in Ashton; he thought he could do better than that. He’s a little embarrassed for him, too, if he thought that going into that house would phase anyone over the age of twelve. “That’s it?” Michael asks, staring at Ashton with a dead expression.

“Ah, ah,” Ashton says with a glint in his eye. “You gotta break into the Hood house, and you have to video yourself lighting the Black Flame Candle.” At this, a hush falls over the group, and everyone’s eyes go between Michael and Ashton, waiting for him to decline. Everyone knows the Hood story, and what lighting the candle means, and it looks like they want Michael to say no as much as he wants to say no himself.

The thing is, Michael lives in Salem. The Hood house is said to be where three witch sisters lived, kidnapping children, performing dark magic and evil spells. Everyone in Salem is told this story when they’re kids, and warned from entering the little cottage that sits on the edge of the town. And when you’re a kid and desperate for a little excitement, you believe it to the extent where you lay awake, hearing the ghost cackles and seeing long fingers and crooked noses dancing in the shadows on your wall, nightmares of black cats and flying broomsticks keeping you awake. But then you get older, and the magic dies, and you accept that the people who lived in that house weren’t really witches, and that the cauldron and brooms that are in there were put in when the house was opened as a museum. A museum that was quickly closed due to lack of funding and dwindling interest.

Michael doesn’t believe in the story anymore, none of the adults about town really do. But the Black Flame Candle - that’s different. That’s something people don’t talk about all that much, don’t _want_ to talk about. Michael doesn’t believe in the witches, but that doesn’t mean that they _couldn’t_ have lived, that the stories _aren’t_ true. Telling people you don’t believe in the stories one hundred percent, to save face more than anything, is different to looking the legend in the face and daring it to be real.

The Black Flame Candle is said to be cursed. That if it’s lit on Halloween night, then the witches will be brought back to life and will wreak havoc, finish what they started all those years ago before they were tortured and hanged by the townspeople. Michael likes to think of himself as a rational and logical person, but even _he_ doesn’t want to mess around with that.

“What’s the matter, Clifford? Scared?” Ashton asks, and he looks way too smug. Michael shakes his head no and holds his hand out to pull Luke off the lawn chair the two of them were occupying.

“What is there to be afraid of? It’s just a bunch of hocus pocus.”

Michael trudges along to the corner of town, where the Hood cottage sits tucked into a corner, hidden by trees and surrounded by crumbling gravestones. He’s sweating off his skeleton make up with all the walking, his skinny jeans sticking uncomfortably to his thighs. “You’re such a shit, Ash. We could have been back getting smashed with everyone, but instead we’re walking through a cemetery. How fucking cliché.” Luke trips over a root, and Ashton grabs his arm to steady him. When he dragged Luke along for company he wasn’t really expecting Ashton to come along too, to “make sure you actually do it”.

“Shut up and keep walking, Michael. Unless you want to turn back?” Ashton teases. Michael wants to point out that he hasn’t let go of Luke’s shoulder yet, but bites his tongue and trudges on ahead, reading the odd headstone and stumbling over the uneven ground.

“You know the legend says that this is where they buried the bones of the kids after they took all their organs out for spells and boiled the flesh off their bones.”

“Shut up, Luke,” Michael and Ashton say in unison, and Luke just huffs.

Michael tries telling himself that he’s not scared, that he’s twenty years old and being scared of an old wives’ tale is irrational and if Luke and Ashton knew how he was really feeling, then he’d never live it down. And as much as he says he doesn’t believe the stories, the closer he gets to the cottage, the harder it is to convince himself that that’s exactly what they are – stories.

When they make it to the door, Michael’s hands are sweaty and he wipes them on his jeans before reaching for the door handle. “Let’s just get this over with, Travis bought good weed and I want to get back before it’s all gone.”

Ashton starts to pick at the old rusty padlock that keeps the door locked, but before he even has the tip of his penknife in to jangle it open, it snaps and falls to the concrete step with a loud clang. The three just stand staring at it for a second, Luke muttering “that was easy” before Ashton is shoving Michael in front of him.

“Alright, Clifford. In you go.”

After Michael peeks in through the dusty stained glass panel, he lifts the rusted latch and grimaces at the scream the old metal emits as it moves for the first time in God knows how long. The door swings open with a long, hollow creak that seems to pierce through the silence, and the smell of dust and decay invades Michael’s nostrils before he can even take one step into the small house. Luke and Ashton seemed to have stepped back a little, and Michael kind of wants to bolt, too. (Because there are massive cobwebs covering the entryway and hanging from every nook and cranny in the place, _not_ because it actually feels wrong to be standing in the doorway, like he’s about to breach some sort of force field that he probably shouldn’t.) Behind him, the other two are frantically whispering, and Ashton’s hand is back clutching Luke’s shoulder.

He pulls a stick from one of the bushes beside the door and uses it to swipe away some of the cobwebs, making the most unappetising candy floss ever. He chucks the stick to the side, wipes his palms on his already dirty jeans, and takes a step inside. Luke and Ashton follow shortly after.

“How am I supposed to find this fucking candle if I can’t see a damned thing in front of me?” Michael groans. He pulls his lighter from his tight back pocket, and the small flickering flame doesn’t really help to light up the small room.

Luke pulls the lighter from Michael’s hand and starts hovering it close to the walls, running his fingers along the cracked plaster, leaving crooked designs where the pads of his fingers catch the dirt. Michael’s about to ask him what he’s doing, when he says “Bingo,” and the place is filled with light. It’s too much too sudden, and Michael has to squint so his eyes don’t melt out of his head. His confusion must be written all over his face because Luke just shrugs, “Place was a museum, remember? They had to get electricity.” Michael feels a little dumb for not thinking of that.

Ashton is looking at Luke like he’s the smartest boy in the whole world, and Michael rolls his eyes before letting them roam around the small room. It’s the only room in the whole house; the only other door that he can see is hanging open to reveal three broomstick and a purple cloak tucked into the closet. The house smells old, but not unpleasant, and Michael walks around it slowly, looking into the cauldron that stands in the middle of the room and reading some of the placards that were put up when the museum was opened. They’re pretty childish; a cartoon witch with a speech bubble explaining that the brooms were used for flying and not cleaning, the cauldron for brewing potions. They’ve left out the fact that these witches supposedly cooked children in the cauldron, but whatever.

He goes to the back wall which is taken up by a large bookshelf, the shelves bowing under the weight of the books they’re holding. The books are huge; all hardback and bound in different coloured leather, embossed with gold lettering. Most of the gold has worn off, leaving only the letter pressed into the spine of the book, and Michael thinks that’s a shame – as pretty as they look now, he thinks they could have been really beautiful when they were new and pristine. He can faintly hear Ashton and Luke joking about, but he doesn’t really listen. Instead he picks up a hat that’s been placed on the small table to the left of the bookshelf. The glass case it was in is broken, the shards covering the grimy floor like tiny stars. He feels like he shouldn’t be touching it, but he can’t help running his fingers over the soft velvet.

The hat makes him feel weird. He can’t put his finger on it. It’s not a ‘witch’s hat’ like he would have imagined. It’s just a small velvet flat cap, like a bonnet trimmed in white lace. It’s just – the placard says it’s what the witches wore who lived here wore, and it makes him feel off. It cements the fact that that these were real people that lived here, whether they were actually witches or not. It would have been easier to accept if it was a black pointy hat, or was even just black, but it’s soft and purple, like anyone could have worn it. It makes him feel guilty holding it – this belonged to someone else, someone who lived and breathed and loved and was, in the end, murdered. He looks around the room, at the cauldron and the brooms and the books, and his stomach is turning. He doesn’t want to light the candle anymore – not because he’s scared, but because he feels like he doesn’t have the right.

There’s no proof that they were actually guilty, actually _witches_ , and having their names and private possessions on display for strangers to spit at and degrade, teenagers to deface, well, Michael doesn’t want to participate in it anymore.

He places the hat back down gently, runs his fingers over the soft material once more, and turns to tell Luke and Ashton how he feels, avoiding looking at the small wooden toy sitting on the windowsill. He doesn’t even want to start thinking about that. He’s about to say that he’s not going to go through with it, try and tell them why, the weird feeling that’s tugging at the bottom of his gut. But Luke and Ashton are running around with a broom between their legs, pretending to cast spells with imaginary wands, and Michael knows they wouldn’t get it, no matter how much he tried to explain. So he decides the fastest way to get out of this place is to light the damned candle and then blow it back out when the video stops recording.

His eyes scan around the room in the weird glow from the dust covered bulbs, and he’s a little relieved when he doesn’t see any kind of candle anywhere, except for the fake ones in the light dangling from the ceiling. As much as he likes the idea of not having to light it, he hopes no little shit stole it for the laugh.

He opens his mouth to shout that the candle is gone, and then he spots it. Tucked into a corner is a little square table, so small that the candle is the only thing that fits on it. The display case has been smashed, just like the one that contained the hat, but Michael can’t see the shards of glass anywhere. There’s black cloth covering the table, and a deep purple velvet rope has been put around it. Now, one end hangs and brushes the floor.

Michael walks over to it slowly, the ruckus Luke and Ashton are making completely drowned out. It’s a gross looking candle, a horrible yellow colour with red running through it like veins. He can see why people don’t like it. It looks and feels a little off, and he doesn’t want anything to do with it.

The placard with all the information is close by, and Michael tilts it towards him, wiping the dust off with the sleeve of his shirt so he can read it. “The Black Flame Candle,” he says aloud, and then Luke and Ashton are standing in front of him, pink cheeked and a little giddy, waiting on him to continue. “Made from the melted fat of a hangman and cursed by the three Hood sisters.” He paraphrases. “Just as the name describes, it burns with a black flame but shines no light because of its dark magic. It is believed that if lit on All Hollow’s Eve it has the power to bring the spirits of the Underworld back to Earth.”

He scoffs and lets the wooden stand fall from his fingers, watches it wobble for a second before it steadies and the room falls silent again. All three of them stare at the candle, ominous and heavy as it sits in the corner. Like it’s daring them to try something.

Luke opens his mouth, but Michael speaks before him. “Let’s just video this shit and get out here.” Luke closes his mouth and nods, and Ashton pulls his phone from his pocket, setting up the camera.

Michael takes a step towards the table, his heavy boots squeaking against the old wooden floor. He feels around in the pocket of his jeans for his lighter and only remembers that he gave it to Luke when said boy says “here” and tosses the scratched zippo to him. He stares at the candle again, and decides he doesn’t like being this close to it. The wick already looks like it’s been lit a few times. The thought should calm Michael – that someone else has already lit it and the world didn’t end, but instead it makes him more nervous.

“Get a move on, ay Mike? My battery is at fourteen percent.” Michael flips Ashton off and flicks open his lighter.

Michael holds the flame of his lighter against the wick of the candle, and holds his breath when the small fire grows as it catches on the frayed string. The flame burns orange for a moment before turning black and where there was once light is cast in darkness again. Michael squeezes his eyes shut, but when he opens them again, the flame is still black. He figures it’s some sort of gimmick and closes his lighter, is a little disappointed by how anti-climatic the whole thing is, but more relieved.

“There, Ash,” he says, shoulders slumping as the tension leaves them. “Did you-“

He’s cut off by a loud bang, the door slamming shut and the latch catching. The small bulbs in the overhead lights blow out one by one, and slowly the room is cast into darkness. The wind inside the house picks up, howling and hurting Michael’s ears, but when he looks the windows are all shut tight. He looks in the direction of the candle, and although there’s no light coming from the dark flame, he knows that it’s still burning. He can _feel_ it.

“Mikey? Ash?” He can hear Luke shouting, but he can’t answer. He can’t even see where Luke is, the wind that’s making his eyes water not helping in the almost complete darkness. He feels sick, ready to faint, and suddenly he doesn’t feel so bad about the hat anymore, because something feels off, feels evil.

There’s a loud _thump_ as Luke trips over one of the broomsticks he and Ashton were messing with, but Michael’s glad for the sound because it helps him locate the blond boy. He heads in the direction of the noise, holding his hands out and shouting for Luke to reach for him. He feels a hand grab his shoulder, long fingers digging into the meat of it, and he screams until he realises it’s only Ashton.

From what he can see, Ashton’s face is as panic-stricken as his own is, and stays that way until Luke pulls himself off the floor and wedges himself in between Michael and Ashton. “What way was the door?” Luke shouts over the wind, and his voice sounds strained.

Michael shakes his head, biting his bottom lip and willing himself not to cry. He grips Luke’s cape tighter, and squints his eyes to see better in the darkness. He can see the faint light of the moon shining in through the glass in the door, and tugs the other two in that direction.

And as suddenly as the wind started, it stops again, and the room is once again basked in light as the candles in the ceiling light burst into flames. Michael’s stomach drops, and his eyes flit back to the candle – still lit and still black.

“Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” he says, and Luke nods. Michael can feel him trembling against his side. “That’s enough of-“

He stops short when he hears a commotion from the other side of the door. “Aw guys, c’mon! Not again! For fuck’s sake!” Michael’s stomach turns to lead. For a second he thinks it’s the police, and if he spends the night in a holding cell his mom is gonna kick his ass into the next century. But then he sees a single silhouette through the glass, completely black and outlined by the faint light of the moon, and just knows that it’s not an officer.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Ashton mutters, eyes scanning the room before quickly pulling Luke, and subsequently Michael, towards the broom closet and shutting the door just before the front door of the house swings open.

Michael is afraid to look, terrified he’ll see the three witches standing there. He believes the stories now, and grips Luke’s hand tight, waiting to be sniffed out and skinned alive. Luke holds back just as tight, and when Michael looks over at him he sees his face buried in Ashton’s chest.

It’s eerily quiet for a few seconds, until someone is cursing and slamming the door shut. The voice Michael hears doesn’t match the picture he had in his head of three old women, wearing cloaks and pointy hats with a black cat scurrying around their feet. For one, it sounds quite young, hardly much older than him, and another – it’s male. “Damn fucking kids. Every fucking year, Christ!”

Michael pushes the door of the closet open a crack, ignoring the hissing sounds Luke is making. Through the small opening he can see a boy, watches as he kicks at the cauldron. “Fuck,” He yells again, and Michael tries to open the door a little more to get a better look. He regrets it immediately because the hinges squeal, and when he tries to grab the door to stop it from moving any more, he knocks it with his elbow and stands with his jaw almost resting on his chest as the door swings wide open.

The other boy in the room turns around, thick eyebrows raised and fluffy raven hair falling in curls against his forehead. Michael stands staring, eyes wide and mouth wider, and a side glance towards the other two guys shoved into the closet reveals they’re doing the same. “Oh,” the stranger says. “Boo, I guess?”

They all stand in silence, just staring at the other boy with a mixture of confusion and horror on their faces. Michael can’t help but think this is bizarre, and he wants to laugh to relieve some of the tension, but feels that would be wrong. Ashton moves first, stepping out of them small closet and brushing dust off his shoulders with the hand that’s still not clasping tightly onto Luke’s. Luke stays close to Ashton as he exits next, and Michael hangs back for a minute. As far as he knows, this guy is a nut job and he doesn’t want to be in the line of fire when he explodes.

“Alright,” the guy says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking as disinterested as humanly possible. “I’m not sure what your whole aim is with this, but I’m not some performing monkey that you assholes can just summon. So, what is it? Bet? Dare? Are you high?”

No one answers. With each second that passes, Michael grows more and more confused and he can’t help but feel a little sad because this dude is beautiful – all tanned skin, sharp jawed and soft featured – but he’s obviously crazy. The stranger raises his eyebrows again, and gestures towards the three boys huddled together in the middle of the room. “Well?”

It really surprises Michael when Luke is the one to answer, voice steady. It impresses him a little too, because although Luke is one of the best dudes he knows, he’s a massive dweeb who’s scared of his own shadow most of the time and refuses to walk home alone after eight p.m. “Who are you?”

Luke’s new found resolve crumbles and he buries himself back into Ashton’s side when the boy stares right at him for a few seconds before exploding, throwing his arms out and gesturing wildly with his hands. “Oh, of course. You all want the three old hags when you light that bloody thing over there.” He points to the candle and Michael cringes. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you all, but they’re busy tonight, so you get me instead. I’m their great, great, great, great nephew. Calum Hood!”  He smiles over exaggeratedly, all perfectly white teeth on display.

There’s another awkward silence, Calum staring right at them until Ashton loses it and starts to giggle. And then Luke starts, and by then Michael can’t help it. Within a few seconds they’re doubling over, clutching their stomachs and wiping tears from their red cheeks. Calum’s face doesn’t change, just stands watching them, crossing his arms over his chest again and leaning one hip against the cauldron.

“Are you quite done?” he asks when the laughter has died down a little bit.

“So, let me get this straight,” Ashton says, wheezing as he tries to catch his breath. “You’re a witch?”

Calum doesn’t even smile. “Yes.”

“That’s brilliant,” Luke says, dabbing underneath his eyes with a poofy sleeve of his vampire shirt.

“Do you wait around for someone to light the candle so you can scare them? Are you getting paid for this?” Michael asks when his stomach stops clenching from laughing so hard.

Calum rolls his eyes. “Of course not, you fucking moron. I don’t _want_ to be here. But when the candles lit, someone has to come up here.” Michael can hear Luke and Ashton snickering, but he’s still curious.

“You don’t sound like a witch,” he says, brushing his fringe off his forehead. It’s caked in a mixture of face paint and sweat, and he’s definitely going to have to shower to get it out.

“And what do witches sound like? You want me to say ‘thou’ and prance around in a frilly shirt? I mean, I live in the underworld, not the nineteenth century.” At the mention of a frilly shirt, Michael allows himself to look Calum’s clothes, notices the black skinny jeans and ripped white tee. And the Converse.

That sets Michael off again. He’s not sure why he finds the shoes so funny, but the longer he looks, the more he laughs. And as much of a giggle as he’s getting out of this Calum guy, he doesn’t really want to spend any more time in his crazy presence. “Okay, okay. You’re a witch. It was nice meeting you, really it was, but we have to get going.” He grabs Luke’s elbow, pulls the chuckling boy towards the door.

But then the door vanishes as the group walks towards it. Honest to god just – disappears. The place it was is now smooth plaster.

“So, what?” Michael hears from behind him, and the cockiness laced in those two words makes his heart race and his head dizzy. He can’t take his eyes from the place where the door once was. “You three think you can drag me away from my party and then abandon me?” Michael doesn’t know what makes him turn around, but when he does his eyes lock right on Calum’s and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. They’re open and teasing and _beautiful_. Calum blinks, breaking eye contact and then snaps his fingers. The room is lit up in an intense orange glow as a fire bursts into life in the grate. Calum clicks his fingers again and one of the small wooden chairs from the corner of the room flies towards him, stops right beside the table. Calum plops himself down on it and swings his legs up on the tabletop. “So, what were you assholes doing before you decided to ruin my night?”

That’s how Michael finds himself sitting in front of an honest to God witch. On Halloween. He sits wondering what even _is_ his life while Luke and Ashton are staring at the other boy, who’s messing with his fingernails and tapping them against his thigh. He wouldn’t even believe it himself if it wasn’t for the fire and the door and the bowl of M&M’s that’s now sitting in the middle of the table. The whole situation gets a little weirder when Michael lets himself properly look at the witch – tanned skin and dark hair, plump lips and chocolate eyes – and notices how beautiful he actually is. He needs alcohol.

“You lot are a barrel of laughs,” Calum says, smooth voice breaking Michael from his reverie. He wishes he was a better at talking to people, could strike up a conversation easily. That’s usually what Ashton is best at, but right now he’s staring between Luke and Calum, almost protectively. Michael wants to vomit.

Luke snorts. “Well, you know, hostages tend to be a little bitter.” Calum shrugs his shoulders and crosses his arms across his wide chest. Michael tries not to look at the way his biceps bulge.

“None of us would be here if you idiots didn’t wanna play mythbusters.” Michael still feels a little guilty about that, so tries to hide his red face in the crook of his elbow.

Ashton giggles, and it relaxes the atmosphere in the whole room. Michael was always a little jealous of his ability to do that. He could probably coax Satan himself into a bathtub filled with lavender bath salts while he braided his hair and played Annie Lennox. Still giggling, Ashton asks “How were we supposed to know something would happen and a witch would _actually_ show up? This whole thing is insane.” Ashton’s face is lit up in a smile, and just like that, the uneasiness in the atmosphere shifts.

Calum’s whole demeanour changes, and his beaten up converse drop to the floor as he sits forward in his chair. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry I uh, yelled at you and all and scared you a little. This just happens every year and I’m stuck here by myself, and I’m sick of it.”

Michael lifts his head from the tabletop, watches as Calum stares intently at the patterns swirled into the wood. “Why do they send _you_?” He’s genuinely curious. He thought that anyone would love the chance to come up from Hell and torment people, especially after being hanged. He doesn’t get why someone would pass up that opportunity.

Calum rolls his eyes. “Cause they’re dicks. They used to come themselves, but I guess the novelty wore off after a few hundred years. But once the candle is lit, someone’s gotta turn up, right? And that damned thing will never just burn away. Anyway, I’m the youngest in the family, and like, we don’t really get on that well, so they think they can force me to do this every year. They don’t like that I’d rather use my magic to get food without leaving my bed instead of being annoying, but it is what it is. I mean, my sister’s all for blowing up pumpkins and scaring kids and shit, but I just wanna chill.”  

The laugh that rips from Michael’s chest surprises even him, but he revels in the little smile that Calum sends his way. It’s not the sarcastic smile that shows off all his teeth, but a one that reaches his eyes and lifts the corners of his mouth. Michael smiles back.

Luke lets out a long sigh and leans back against his chair. The old wood screams in protest and Michael braces himself for a crash that doesn’t come. The chairs are a lot sturdier than he gave them credit for. “No offense, but this is boring as hell. Wanna come to a proper party with us?”

Michael’s stomach flips, and he expects Calum to blow them off and say he’s too cool for that and had a party back home and that they’re the reason he’s not enjoying himself, but he doesn’t. Just smiles brightly and looks right at Michael when he says “I’d love to.”

The walk back to the party is a little awkward. Luke and Ashton have paired up, sending sickening lovey dovey glances towards each other every couple of seconds, Ashton’s hand coming up to rest on Luke’s arm every now and then as if he physically can’t _not_ be touching him. Michael can practically feel the heat of Luke’s blush even though he’s about three feet behind them. Walking with Calum. In complete silence.

He spends most of the time trying to think of a kick ass conversation starter, something that will make him seem intelligent and funny. But his mind is drawing up blank and all he can think of is to ask Calum what his favourite Pokémon is or if he likes salt and vinegar or cheese and onion chips better. He’s usually not this bad- he doesn’t have the best social skills in the world, and Luke will back him up on that, but he hasn’t had this much trouble talking to someone he’d very much like to kiss since Dylan was introduced to their friend group. Michael was seventeen and Dylan had sleeve tattoos and a nose ring, while Michael had his DS constantly clutched in his hand and a five inch fringe. It was a tough and mildly embarrassing time.

The silence between them is pierced when Luke lets out a particularly loud laugh, throwing his head back as Ashton looks far too pleased with himself. Michael hopes his telepathy has kicked in and Luke can hear him chanting “just tell him you’re down to fuck” over and over again because this has to be the longest foreplay ever. Three years of it.

“What’s the story with those two anyway?” Calum asks, and Michael actually trips over his own feet because he wasn’t expecting Calum to speak.

He looks at the back of Luke when he answers “Nothing. Well, everything really. It’s kinda hard to explain,” he says with a small laugh. Just then, Luke stumbles over something and Ashton wraps an arm around his waist to steady him, which just proves Michael’s point. He gestures towards them as if to say ‘see?’

“They both wanna fuck each other, but don’t wanna be the first to say it?”

Michael laughs, “I guess it’s not that hard to explain.” They both fall quiet again, the only sounds Luke and Ashton’s quiet chatter and their feet on the cracked pavement. The night is dark, the light from the street lamps accentuating Calum’s features and sharpening his jawline. Calum shivers a little in the chilly air and crosses his arms, rubbing them to produce a bit of heat. Michael then remembers that Calum is only wearing a thin white t-shirt, and shrugs out of his leather jacket, hands it over to the other boy who looks at him in confusion for a few seconds. “I’ve a long sleeve on. You’re freezing. Here, take it.”

Calum smiles again before taking the jacket from Michael and pulling it on. “Thanks, man.”

Michael lets his eyes fall to the ground, hoping his red cheeks aren’t too visible in the poor light as he mumbles “No problem.”

“So, Michael,” Calum begins, wrapping the jacket tighter around himself. “Those guys have each other. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Anyone special?” Michael almost chokes on his spit but manages to pull himself together. He looks over at Calum, who’s all wide eyed and innocent, looking far too good in Michael’s battered coat. His mouth is curved in a cheeky little grin, lips still a little purple from the cold, one eyebrow raised as he waits for Michael to answer.

Michael bumps him with his shoulder as he says “Nope, what about you?”

Calum smiles and shakes his head. “Me neither. Well, not yet anyway.” There’s a little lilt to his voice, one that’s equal parts unsure and cocky.

Michael looks back over at Calum to try and assess what exactly he meant by that, wonders if Calum is actually flirting or Michael’s brain is making him hear things wrong, and sees Calum already looking at him. It makes something in his gut fizz, and he feels a little giddy. He smiles, pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth so he doesn’t smile too big and sprain his cheeks or something, and just walks alongside Calum.

“So, uh,” Michael starts, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “How do you get out of here? Like, how do you get home?”

“Gotta wait it out ‘til morning. Then they’ll ping me back. Ask me what havoc I wreaked and I’ll say I just ate candy and they’ll roll their eyes and tell me I’m a disappointment.”

“Sounds like a fun time.”

“Oh, it is. Last year was particularly fun when some little kid lit the candle. Literally wet himself before running away screaming. I spent the entire night sitting alone in that shitty little house that doesn’t even have WiFi eating Reese’s Cups and damning my family.”

Michael laughs again. “You know what WiFi is?”

Calum stops walking, and looks at Michael with the most unimpressed expression on his face. Michael feels his glare before he turns around and sees it, unable to suppress the giggles that are tumbling from his mouth. “What?” Michael asks, small laugh making his voice wobbly.

“Of course I know what fucking WiFi is. Again, it’s the underworld, not the nineteenth century.”

“Sorry I’m not a Hell expert,” Michael says, pretending to be offended but the grin he has on his face gives him away. “Let’s get you to this party before you’re zapped home. Does Hell have weed?”

And because he’s feeling brave he throws his arm around Calum’s shoulders in a “look at how bros we are” gesture that really means “you’re totally awesome and I wouldn’t mind waking up with you also your eyes are really pretty”.

“I don’t know what happened, but that poor beer bottle had nothing to do with it. Please don’t take your anger out on it.” Michael just moves his glare from where Ashley is flipping her hair and laughing at something Calum said to Luke, who visibly flinches and holds his hands up in defence. “Whoah, dude, chill.”

Michael knew this would happen. Calum is too hot for it _not_ to happen with his curls and dimply grin and resting smoulder that looks like it should be in some expensive clothing brand’s magazine. The second they came back everyone was crowding around, asking to see the video, and Michael could see the instant that it clicked in Calum’s head what had happened. “So it was you, huh?” Calum asked with his eyebrow cocked, and Michael started spluttering out an apology, but Calum had just waved him off and took a swig from the beer bottle someone had handed him.

He could see Ashley from the corner of his eye, looking Calum up and down and whispering into some other girl’s ear. Michael shifted his body so he was blocking Calum from her line of vision, which was a little bit stupid and juvenile but he didn’t care. It didn’t work, anyway, because not ten seconds later Ashley was dragging Calum away as he laughed and drank more of his beer and followed her.

And now Michael is sitting on one of the white plastic chairs, hoping that his telepathy _hasn’t_ kicked in this time because all Ashley would be able to hear is “don’t touch him don’t look at him don’t even _breathe_ on him he’s not for you go away”. He loves Ashley a lot, but right now he wants her to just ... go away.

“Is this because there’s no weed left? Because I’m sure there’s some in my bottom –“

“It’s not about the weed, Luke.” Michael says, sipping at his lukewarm beer and looking back at Ashley and Calum. She’s obviously flirting, and Calum is flirting right back – smiling at her and laughing at her jokes.

Luke follows the line of Michael’s vision, and says “ooooh” when he sees Ashley rest a manicured hand on Calum’s knee. “You like the witch.”

“Shut up, Luke.”

Ashley’s laugh rings through Michael’s head like pins jabbing at his brain, and Luke puts his arm around Michael’s shoulders. Michael picks at the label on his beer bottle, flicking the small bits of damp paper to the floor. “I don’t like the witch,” he says, a few seconds too late and a little bitter for it to be believable.

“It’s a little weird, the whole thing. But I don’t really blame you. He’s hot as Hell.” Luke laughs at his own stupid joke as he rests his cheek on Michael’s hair. Michael loves him so much, he really does. He’s always there when Michael needs him, through the shitstorm that was high school and his first major breakup. He never really says much but just makes Michael feel better – even before Michael realises he needs it.

“I love you, Luke,” he says, leaning in against Luke’s warm chest. He feels like a kid but he doesn’t care – Luke’s chest is solid and warm and Luke’s fingers feel nice tugging through his hair. So nice that it almost blocks out the view of Ashley scooting closer to Calum and bumping their thighs and knees together.  Almost.

“You’re drunk, Michael.” Luke squeezes Michael a little tighter, can smell the hair gel Michael uses and the lingering scent of the cigarette they shared on the walk to the party. “But I love you, too.”

“I’m not drunk enough,” Michael sighs. Luke takes his eyes from Michael’s fingers fiddling with the bottle to look over at Calum and at Ashley, who has her head on Calum’s shoulder.  Calum catches Luke’s eyes, and he doesn’t look like someone who’s enjoying the turn his night has taken. He mouths ‘help’ in Luke’s direction, laughing a little as Ashley makes herself more comfortable against him.

“If it’s any consolation, I think lover boy wants you to go save him,” Luke mumbles into Michael’s hair, and then kisses the top of his head for good luck before standing up and stretching. “’m gonna go find Ash. Go get your boy.” He winks, and Michael flips him off.

Michael sits in his mopey daze, staring at the scuffed toe of his boot for a while before he even thinks of looking at Ashley and Calum again. There’s some dubstep playing over the speakers and his mood is just shit, and he knows how pissed off he must look. When Calum sees him, he raises his eyebrows before mouthing ‘you good’. Michael nods, and Calum smiles at him. Calum makes some weird movement with his head that Michael then understands is the signal for ‘get over here’, so he does. His spine pops uncomfortably when he stands up, but he ignores it, walks over to where Calum and Ashley are sitting on the dewy grass.

“Hey, Michael!” Calum says, sounding way too cheery and looking way too cute. His lips are a little wet with beer and Michael has to stop himself from groaning out loud. Michael waves, glances between Calum and Ashley, feeling like the most awkward third wheel ever. Ashley’s sending him a death glare, and Michael feels a little bad for interrupting, but not bad enough to walk away.

“So, Michael,” Ashley says, tone sharp and smile kind of intimidating. “Where have you been hiding this handsome one for so long?” She squeezes Calum’s arm and nuzzles against him to show exactly who she means. Michael grinds his teeth and smiles back.

“Oh, you know, places.” He says, trying not to look at the amused expression on Calum’s face and the one of exasperation on Ashley’s. He feels like a bit of an idiot, shuffling his feet and trying not to slap Ashley’s hand from Calum’s leg. He deliberately looks straight ahead at the fence. “And, uh, Calum, he’s uh, staying at mine tonight so we should probably get going.”

Ashley looks like she’s about to protest, but she doesn’t get more than a squeak out before Calum is practically ripping himself from her side, smiling right at Michael and shouting “Bye,” over his shoulder. Ashley stays sitting on the grass for a moment before standing up and walking by Michael, flicking him on the back of the head as she passes.

Calum’s smile is still plastered on his face when Michael chances a glance at him again. He’s unfairly beautiful, Michael thinks, as he grabs another bottle of beer from the drinks table and hands one to Calum. “Am I actually staying at your house tonight?” Calum asks with a cheeky little grin as he magically pops the cap on his beer.

Michael can feel his face heat up about ten degrees, and is glad of his smudged face paint that Luke made him wear. “If you wanted to? My parents are at one of their friend’s party, so they won’t be there.”

Calum nods. “That sounds good.”

“Okay, well, I’m just gonna tell Luke that I’m leaving now then we can go.”

He discards his half finished beer and looks around the backyard and sitting room before finding Luke standing against the counter in the kitchen, scowl on his face as he sips raw vodka from a glass. “We’re gonna go back to my place now,” Michael says, resting back beside him. “You good?”

Luke nods and takes another sip of his drink. Michael stands looking at him for a second, Calum lingering beside them. Luke doesn’t say anything, just swirls the clear liquid in his glass before knocking it back.

“You want to come with us?” he asks, putting an arm around Luke’s shoulders. He knows exactly what’s going on. Ashton is nowhere to be seen. “We can talk shit about whoever it is and eat the day old pizza that’s in my fridge.”

On the walk back to Michael’s house, leaves crunching underneath their feet and fireworks lighting the sky up different colours, Luke slumps against Michael’s side and Calum rubs a sympathetic hand up and down Luke’s arm. It doesn’t feel weird or odd having Calum walking with them. He fits into their group so effortlessly that it scares Michael a little bit how much he wants to keep him around. His easy charm and quick wit go well with the sarcasm Michael uses to hide his awkwardness and Luke’s flat out awkwardness.

“Who was it this time?” Michael asks softly.  Calum knows exactly what he means. He’s only known the other two a few hours, but it doesn’t take much to work out that Luke saw Ashton getting with someone.

“That Cathy girl with the purple hair,” Luke grumbles.

“Want me to curse her?” Calum pipes up. “I can make her skin green. Or make her eyebrows twitch non-stop. Or I could –“

Luke laughs, shakes his head against Michael’s shoulder saying “It’s cool. But there’s this dude who keeps sitting in my unassigned lecture seat at college so maybe you can sort him out for me.” Michael tightens his arm around Luke’s waist and sends a look over at Calum, trying to tell him “thank you” without actually having to say it out loud.

With a belly full of stale pizza and the candy the trick-or-treaters didn’t eat, Michael turns on the stereo in the corner of the room and turns the volume down to a more comfortable level. Luke is sprawled out on the armchair with his phone clutched is his hand, drool running down his chin as he snores loudly. Michael pulls the duvet from the back of the sofa and covers Luke with it before he sits down on the sofa beside Calum.

“He okay?” Calum asks, gesturing towards Luke with a nod of his head.

Michael kicks off his boots and throws his feet up on the coffee table. “He’ll be fine. This happens a lot more than you’d think. Sometimes it’s Ashton I have to drag back and comfort. They’re fucking morons.”

The silence they fall into is comfortable, Michael cracking open two cans of Coke and handing one to Calum as My Chemical Romance spills softly from the speakers. Luke’s heavy snoring can be heard from the other side of the room, and Calum giggles every time Luke lets out a particularly loud one. Michael is used to it after having sleepovers for the past fifteen years.

Calum gulps from his can of soda and then puts it on the table next to Michael’s feet. “Thanks for a good night. Even though you’re the one that dragged me away from my home in the first place.” Michael starts apologising, but Calum cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “I mean it; I had a really good time.”

Michael rests back against the plush of the sofa. “I’m glad. Maybe I can summon you again next year?” He meant it as a joke, kind of, but Calum is nodding and smiling, scooting a little closer to Michael on the sofa.

“I’d enjoy that very much.”

 Michael’s starting to have a little trouble breathing – Calum is so close and smells so good and his lips are so pink and plump. “I, uhm, I think Ashley would enjoy seeing you again.”

Calum snorts and rolls his eyes. “For that to work I’d have to magic a dick on her.” Michael chokes on his mouthful of Coke and just about manages to avoid spraying it all over his jeans and the sofa. “Shit, sorry, was that too crude?” Calum asks, clicking his fingers and then handing the napkin to Michael.

When Michael composes himself he manages to wheeze out an “It’s okay, I like crude.” He wants to add something about liking dick too, but thinks that might be a bit much.

He feels Calum move closer again, and this time their thighs are pressed together. Calum’s looking at him with his wide brown eyes, and Michael could easily get lost in them. He allows his gaze to drop from Calum’s eyes to his lips, and back up again. He knows Calum saw, because he’s grinning and leaning in even closer. “Hey, Michael, would you punch me in the face if I kissed you right now? I mean, I’ve only got a few more hours up top left, might as well make the most of it.”

Calum has a smug little smirk playing on his lips, and Michael gets rid of it the only way he knows how. By leaning forward and pressing his lips against the witch’s, empty Coke can falling to the floor as he moves his hands to the back of Calum’s head and threads his fingers through his soft hair. He smiles against Calum’s mouth when he hears the other boy gasp.

He lays down against the arm rest of the sofa and pulls Calum with him until he’s laying against his chest. The sofa isn’t the most comfortable, and definitely not big enough to accommodate to boys over six foot stretched across it, but they make it work. Calum slots in between Michael’s thighs, hands bunched in the fabric of his dress shirt and mouth working lazily against Michael’s.

They stay like that until they’re both beyond exhausted and Michael’s eyes slip shut, Calum’s warm weight and gentle fingers trailing across his chest lulling him to sleep.

When he wakes, his neck is in agony from the awkward angle he slept in on the sofa. The light pouring in through the open blinds stings at his eyes and makes him groan and bury his face in his palms. When he’s finally able to open his eyes without the light blinding him, he looks around the room and spots Luke still passed out on the armchair, looking incredibly cosy with the woollen blanket tucked up underneath his chin and hair fluffy against his forehead.

He sees the two cans of Coke discarded on the floor and then remembers – Calum. He brings his fingers up to his lips, and they still feel a little tingly and kiss swollen and when he looks at his neck in the front camera of his phone he can see it’s littered with angry purple marks. “Shit,” he says, and slumps back against the sofa. He feels empty, pressing against the marks Calum left as if that will keep them there longer.

He still has a hard time believing that his Halloween went down the way it did. If anyone else were to tell him that they spent the night summoning witches and then making out with them until they fell asleep he’d call them all kinds of crazy and do his best to avoid them in the future. But it happened. Calum is real.

He’s about to go into the kitchen to get a glass of water when he sees a slip of paper folded in two on the coffee table. He looks at it for a few seconds before picking it up and flipping it open, confused by the unfamiliar handwriting but smiling when he gets to the signature.

He reads the note again and again, grin taking over his face as he tries not to squeal and wake Luke, who’s still deeply asleep and snoring like an old engine.

_Thanks for not abandoning me. I’ll see what I can do about visiting, but I expect to be called next Halloween anyway ;) Until then – here’s my number. And for the last time, – underworld, not 19 thC.     _

_Cal xxx_

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm sorry  
> but come converse on tumblr with me I'm a loser but I try -> t1mburton


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